


this isn't our first time around

by nighimpossible



Category: Bartimaeus - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: Multi, Rehabilitation, Reincarnation, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 05:39:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13001022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nighimpossible/pseuds/nighimpossible
Summary: It seems that the spirit she thought was dead and gone isn’t so dead after all. Kitty couldspitshe’s so furious.“This is about the worst way you could tell me you’re alive, Bartimaeus,” Kitty grits through her teeth. Her fingers curl against the countertop, nails nearly cutting into the wood.The man gives her a confused look. “Sorry,” he says carefully. “I think you’re mistaking me for someone else.”





	this isn't our first time around

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bygoshbygolly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bygoshbygolly/gifts).



> This fic takes place after _Ptolemy's Gate_ , so, spoilers abound. You are warned!

 

 

London after the Demon Revolt is in tatters, but it pretends not to be. That’s the thing about the survivors of a city in ruin, Kitty thinks to herself: they just keep on living. Destroyed buildings get rebuilt. Upended governments are restored. Kitty can just see it now: in five years or so, to a random passerby, it will be as if Nouda never came to this plane at all.

 

But Kitty remembers.

 

She stays in London for as long as she can tolerate it. She helps the common folk who suffered in the attack as much as she can. It helps Kitty ground herself in this plane once more. Her sacrifice, the years that were drained from her—it was not in vain. Kitty helped save hundreds, if not thousands, of innocents. So she stays until the government has enough new faces as old, has enough common folk that they will no longer be drowned out by the magical elite. Ms. Piper even offers her a place on the Council, a place that Kitty declines as politely as possible. 

 

She’s just tired.

 

Though the lines on her face have faded slightly with time, her hair has remained stark white since her trip to the Other Place. Kitty hasn’t had the energy to dye it black again. The texture of straw between her fingertips, it is a small price to pay in the long run. She knows others who paid far more dearly.

 

The bus ride out to Oxfordshire is quiet. Everything Kitty has ever owned in her life lies in a bag tucked neatly behind her feet. Her decision to leave London should have been hard: it’s the only place she’s ever lived, and although Kitty has never known a life of comfort, she could call herself comfortable in a city like that—a city where she knows every back alley and hiding spot. Escape routes come to her in London like breathing. There is a safety in that.

 

In contrast, Oxford’s cobbled streets are strange beneath her feet. Kitty gets lost twice on her way from the bus station to the boarding house where she’s made arrangements to stay in for the time being. The Amulet of Samarkand bangs against her chest as she makes her way through the streets of a new place. Oxford is nowhere close to the size of London, and it reminds her nothing of the dead.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Nathaniel and Bartimaeus are gone: that much Kitty knows to be true. She ought to live well in their honor; she ought to try and find a real purpose again and strive towards it. It’s hard, though, to care about much anymore. Her energies have been tapped.

 

Yes, Kitty survived the Demon Revolt, but only in tatters. She cannot pretend otherwise.

 

The Eagle and Child pub is hiring, and she finds herself employed as a barkeep within her first few days in town. It’s a step toward normalcy, and Kitty will take it.

 

When Marcus, the man in charge, hires her, she gives him the name Clara Bell. It suits a barkeep, and perhaps it’s better for everyone if Kitty Jones remains a dead woman.

 

“It’s not a hard job, if you know how to do it,” Marcus grins at Kitty as she tends bar the first night she’s on shift. He’s an older man with a bald head, clearly in the sunset of his life, and Kitty can see his personality reflected all over the establishment. “You seem like you’ve got some experience.” He nods at her white hair, and she doesn’t correct him. Kitty _does_ have experience: perhaps less than he is envisioning, but this she knows how to do. Pour, smile, take stock, gather tips, close. It’s an easy enough dance. It’s one she’s done before.

 

Well: it’s easy enough until a familiar man sits down at the bar.

 

Marcus is long gone by the time the lean-faced, tall, young man asks her, albeit rather politely, for, “A pint of the good stuff, ma’am. Please.” He points to a particular lager at the end of the bar.

 

Black hair hanging down around his face in curls, the customer smiles at her a little plaintively. Kitty had always thought Ptolemy’s face was beautiful when Bartimaeus had worn it so proudly, but perhaps that was just her admiration for the ancient magician. This face was older by a few years—maybe even older than her—adjusted to fit in with the college population in the town, Kitty guessed. Seeing Ptolemy in his mid-twenties was almost mocking the fact that the magician had died at fourteen. Anger courses through her, a knot tightening in her stomach. It seems that the spirit she thought was dead and gone isn’t so dead after all. Kitty could _spit_ she’s so furious. 

 

“This is about the _worst_ way you could tell me you’re alive, Bartimaeus,” Kitty grits through her teeth. Her fingers curl against the countertop, nails nearly cutting into the wood.

 

The man gives her a confused look. “Sorry,” he says carefully. “I think you’re mistaking me for someone else.”

 

Kitty rolls her eyes and points at him accusatorily. “Don’t try me, _demon_.”

 

“Demon?” the man balks. “My friends call me Paul. Easier than the name my parents gave me. Bit of a mouthful.” He shrugs. “Names have never been that important to me, anyway.”

 

Kitty has the iron cross she keeps around her wrist against his arm in a flash. When Paul does not flinch away, Kitty takes a step back. Her heart feels like it’s beating in her throat. “Oh,” she says reflexively. “Oh dear.” It’s not Bartimaeus. The man before her is just some kind of mirage. A trick of the light, perhaps. Kitty rubs her eyes, but when she opens them, Paul is still there, looking at her with a generously sympathetic gaze.

 

“Clearly there’s something strange going on here,” Paul nods.

 

“Clearly,” she echoes.

 

Kitty quickly pours him the pint. “On the house,” she adds. Anything to get this ghost out of her sights.

 

“Cheers,” the man nods at her before heading away, beer in hand.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Kitty gets to the room she’s rented, which is located above one of the local chip shops, at nearly two in the morning the night she meets Paul. She doesn’t even take off her coat, just gets to business drawing a summoning rune on the floor of her bedroom. Kitty doesn’t bother with any protective magics or offensive spells. It’s a last ditch effort to summon a spirit whose very death she witnessed. The odds of success are slim to none.

 

Maybe Kitty’s finally lost her marbles, but she could have sworn that the man in the bar that night was none other than Ptolemy himself. She’s only ever seen Bartimaeus wear that face before.

 

Crouching down to make one final dash in chalk on the floor, Kitty looks up as the temperature drops slightly. 

 

“It can’t be,” Kitty whispers in the dimly light room. She saw the Glass Palace collapse. There was no surviving that: not for Nouda, not for Nathaniel, and certainly not for a bound demon.

 

Nevertheless, a panther, black as night, prowls in the pentacle before her.

 

“Bartimaeus,” Kitty breathes.

 

“After an all too short stay in the Other Place,” Bartimaeus confirms, licking his white teeth with a long pink tongue. “How long has it been? A day?”

 

“Six months,” Kitty corrects him, standing up. “My God.”

 

“Close enough,” Bartimaeus says, shrugging his feline shoulders pack with a low purr.

 

Kitty kicks a line in the chalk, releasing him from the pentacle to do as he wishes. Ultimately, she trusts the demon, even if she shouldn’t.

 

Bartimaeus nods at this gesture. “Thanks.” His impish form floats beyond the pentacle and flops down on Kitty’s bed. “You look better. Minus the hair, of course. But it kind of suits you, doesn’t it?” The moon shines down through the one window in Kitty’s room, and Kitty finds in the dim light that her hands are shaking. “Let me guess. Some nifty artifact has destroyed half of London and you need my help. Or Nouda’s back, and you need the Sakhr al-Jinni to swoop in and save the day. Well guess _what?_ I’m out of the saving London business.” Suddenly, the panther looks around curiously, darting to the window. “Hold on. This isn’t London.”

 

“Oxford,” Kitty confirms. “I can’t believe you’re alive.”

 

“Neither can I, really.” The panther sniffs around at her modest accommodations. “You’d think they’d give you some money after saving the world.”

 

Kitty looks away. “Actually, they _did_.”

 

Ms. Piper had gifted Kitty a trust fund for “anything you might need, darling.” Kitty’s just not used to wealth. Sure, she’d gotten herself a place to stay for a reasonable price and new clothes so that she doesn’t have to darn the holes in her sweaters anymore. But that hadn’t even made a dent in what Ms. Piper had given her. For now, it’s a reminder that she has a cushion of safety in the form of a full to the brim bank account. That’s not a comfort she’s ever had before.

 

“Figures,” Bartimaeus says knowingly. “Spending money is apparently a skill.”

 

“I saw something tonight,” Kitty says quietly. “Something you’d want to know about.”

 

The panther sits back on its hind legs. “This seems ominous.”

 

“I saw Ptolemy.”

 

The panther shifts in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, a man in standing before her. A very familiar man.

 

_So much for your promises_ , Kitty remembers herself saying. “You’re a cruel little beast when you want to be, Bartimaeus,” Kitty hisses, turning away from Nathaniel’s form. Her eyes burn with tears. She wanted to see Nathaniel again so desperately, but not like this. She does not want this terrible facsimile. 

 

“You were cruel _first,_ ” Bartimaeus says blithely in Nathaniel’s precise drawl. “I didn’t drag you to the Other Place to ask you about your dead friend. So let’s not put this on _me_ , shall we?”

 

“If you knew that Nathaniel was alive, I would want to know,” Kitty says sharpy. “I’m doing you a favor.”

 

“Well, Nathaniel is dead, Kitty,” Bartimaeus replies, and Kitty’s stomach drops to the floor. She hadn’t anticipated how much the confirmation was going to hurt. “And so is Ptolemy. He has been for two thousand years.” A flicker of hurt falls across his face.

 

“I could have sworn it was you, Bartimaeus. He looks _exactly_ like that face you wear of his. A few years older, yes, but the eyes. It was like you were sitting right there. I even threw iron on him and he didn’t move a muscle. Then _he_ apologized for _my_ confusion. ” She looks up at him from the floor. “Aren’t you even a little curious?”

 

“I think that human vision is easily distorted,” Bartimaeus hums to himself thoughtfully. “We’re in Oxford, yes? He’s probably a student.”

 

Kitty can see the gears turning inside Bartimaeus’s head. She knows that she’s snared his interest, and a little sigh of relief escapes her lips.

 

“Take that mask off. God, did you even like him?” Kitty asks bitterly, turning her gaze to her feet. She can’t look at a dead man tonight. Nathaniel has already haunted her dreams enough. This nightmarish ghoul is too much. The push and pull between Nathaniel and Bartimaeus was near antagonistic at times. It was hard to tell if Bartimaeus actually mourned his master’s passing.

 

“I think that very, _very_ slowly, he grew into someone that I _could_ like.” She feels Bartimaeus sit down on the floor next to her. He presses his arm against hers in quiet apology. “I was ready to die, you know. Which is ultimately not the most preferable way of doing things around these parts. So permanent, you know? There are not many people I’d do that for.” Bartimaeus pauses. “Two, really.” Kitty’s heart is in her throat. Bartimaeus leans against her shoulder with a pleasant pressure. “He was good, in the end. One of the best, really, even if it rankles me to admit it.”

 

“I know,” Kitty nods. She lets her head drop against Bartimaeus’s shoulder. “Did you tell him?”

 

“He knew how I felt,” Bartimaeus says distantly. “They both knew, in the end.” He puts his arm around her and the two of them sit together in the dark. It feels strange to be held by the dead.

 

“We’ll look around tomorrow,” Bartimaeus tells her quietly. “See if this doppelganger story has legs. You should get some rest.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Kitty wakes up with a furry lynx warming her feet. “What?” the lynx asks. “I was tired too. Six months in the Other Place after what you two put me through was not nearly enough time to recuperate.”

 

She isn’t due back at the Eagle and Child until the late afternoon, so spending the day looking for Ptolemy only seems slightly crazy. She convinces herself that it’s just killing time until she has to clock in.

 

Bartimaeus wears Nathaniel’s face again. “I can change it, if you like,” he tells her when she flinches after the shift. “I just figured—you know. He would have fit in here.” 

 

Kitty knows that he would have. A city full of students learning history and magic alike? This place would have been like paradise for Nathaniel. She blinks her eyes quickly and locks the door behind them. “No, it’s alright. Let’s go.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The University of Oxford has over thirty colleges that comprise it. Kitty and Bartimaeus spend their first day together in town quietly searching through fifteen of them. Bartimaeus generally transforms into something inconspicuous once they get close enough—a mouse, a hummingbird, something small enough to sneak inside and look around—while Kitty searches the grounds outside the college for signs of Paul.

 

“Any luck?” Kitty asks as the mouse next to her in a blink transforms back into Nathaniel. The All Souls college looms above them—perhaps the high and mightiest of them all.

 

“I’m beginning to think you hallucinated that entire encounter last night,” Bartimaeus sighs, sounding miffed. “You know, if you wanted my company, you don’t have to make up some story about seeing my long lost mas—”

 

“Oh!” Kitty says, tugging Bartimaeus backwards as a tall man with dark, tousled hair nearly runs into them. Bartimaeus sticks out his foot subtly and sends the man flying across the sidewalk. 

 

“ _Woah—_ ” He doesn’t fall well, his books scattering wildly. Kitty quickly bends down to help him pick up his belongings. She is certain that Bartimaeus is flicking through the seven planes to see what kind of foul trick this reincarnation truly is.

 

She hears his breath catch. No trick, then.

 

“Thank you,” Paul says, slightly flustered. “I really must look where I’m going—oh! It’s you. From the pub.”

 

“Not too hungover, then,” she smiles, handing over the books in her hands. He nods at her gratefully.

 

“It’s Clara, right?” he confirms. “I think that’s what your name-tag said.”

 

“Kitty, actually,” she says with a wince. “Clara was the previous barkeep. My name tag is on backorder.” The lie comes easily, and it makes sense: if this is Ptolemy, she wants to be called by her name. Her real name. She can’t think of anyone who deserves to know it more.

 

“That’s in Coptic,” Bartimaeus notes quietly, reading the cover. He looks like he’s seen a ghost. Kitty finds that the feeling is mutual. “Not an easy language to acquire.”

 

Paul looks up at Bartimaeus with his belongings gathered in his arms. “Well, as an Extraordinary Research Fellow in the subject of the magical arts, Coptic is really rather useful. Lots of old texts written in it, and it came easily enough to me. Basically a second language now. Or a fifteenth, really.”

 

“So you’re a show off,” Bartimaeus says, a slight laugh in his tone. “Of course you are.”

 

“No,” Paul says immediately, before rephrasing. “Well, maybe a little.”

 

“We should grab tea,” Bartimaeus blurts out. “That’s what you people do, right? It’s on us. An apology for sending you flying.” Turning to Kitty, he murmurs a quiet, “Found a way for you to spend some of that money.”

 

“You people?” Paul says confusedly. “Have we met?”

 

Bartimaeus helps Paul up with a surprisingly strong hoist. “No, I don’t think we have. The name’s Rekhyt.” Kitty balks at the name, raising an eyebrow at Bartimaeus. He gives her a sharp glance that reads _let it go_. She does. “And you are?”

 

Paul looks at Kitty and then back to Bartimaeus. “Rekhyt. Doesn’t that mean lapwing in Egyptian?”

 

A flash of emotion crosses Bartimaeus’s face, and instinctively, Kitty reaches out and takes his hand in her own. His skin is hot, even in the briskness of winter in England. His essence seems to burn like a boiler from the inside out. The man’s eyes dart down to their clenched embrace. “It does,” the demon says quietly.

 

“So I’m not the only one with a strange name around here. Most people call me Paul,” the stranger says with a shrug. “It’s easier.”

 

“I think you’ll find that we’re not most people,” Bartimaeus says smoothly. “Give us time.”

 

“Oh,” the man laughs. “So now you want tea _and_ my time.”

 

“And your name. Your real name,” Bartimaeus adds. “Three fairly small things. I think you’re a generous bloke, so just hand them over.”

 

“A little highway robbery never hurt anyone,” the man says ruefully before walking away. “Come on, I know a good tea shop around the corner from here.” He turns his head around and he’s smiling. “It’s Ptolemy.” Kitty feels as Bartimaeus squeezes her hand instinctively. “I know, I know: truly a parent’s curse.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

It turns out Ptolemy is a Classics scholar—Kitty hears Bartimaeus snort loudly at the irony while sipping tea from an ostentatious looking cup—studying “religious syncretism in Roman Britain.”

 

“I know exactly what that is, of course,” Bartimaeus says weakly. “But if you wanted to tell Kitty about it, I’m sure she would appreciate it.”

 

Kitty glares at Bartimaeus. “I’m sure I would.”

 

Ptolemy chews on his cheek for a moment before replying. “When two distinct peoples mix, they bring their cultures with them. Depending on which group has the upper hand, some cultures get decimated outright. But that’s a rarity.” He leans forward, clearly getting excited. His eyes are bright with delight at just talking about his area of interest. Kitty leans forward as well, her elbows planted on the table around her biscuit. “Culture clash isn’t just a clash. It’s a combination. It’s a mixture that, when you look at the final product, if you dig hard enough, you can see where each piece came from. Look,” he adds, pulling out a tome from his backpack.

 

It’s a book on ancient Bath, a small British town that the Romans once occupied. “There were Celtic peoples here long before Hadrian built his wall,” he says, flipping through the pages until he finds the image he’s clearly looking for. Turning the book around, Ptolemy shows Kitty and Bartimaeus a monstrous face carved into a wall. “That is a gorgon head. But look at the face. Gorgons in Greek and Roman mythology are women, yes?” Ptolemy points to the monster’s upper lip.

 

“Is that a mustache?” Kitty asks.

 

“Is that _Farqual?_ ” Bartimaeus adds, his brow furrowing.

 

“There was a Celtic god who looked a hell of a lot like that,” Ptolemy grins. “Plus, the whole place is a combination of two goddesses: Minerva and Sulis, both considered goddesses of wisdom, both from completely separate pantheons. It’s likely that this place became somewhere both the Celts and the Romans could mingle together in peace.”

 

“Where, exactly, does this fit into the magical arts?” Bartimaeus drawls.

 

Ptolemy looks at him from across the small table, and Kitty could _swear_ it was a leer. “The stonework. Want to know where the stones are from?”

 

“Something tells me you’re about to inform us,” Bartimaeus replies, but he’s got a gleam of excitement in his expression. The banter between them feels familiar. Easy.

 

“Carthage.” Ptolemy leans back like he’s already proved his point. “There’s no way moving a hundred tonnes of stone from Africa to England didn’t involve, well, a near army from the Other Place.”

 

“Sounds about right,” Bartimaeus muses. Kitty hits his arm as discreetly as possible. “Hadrian was a bit of a prick about it.”

 

Ptolemy looks at Bartimaeus curiously. “What?”

 

“What?” Bartimaeus parrots back.

 

“Let’s order more tea,” Kitty says sweetly, nodding at their waiter and hoping to divert the topic of conversation.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Ptolemy bids them farewell after tea, and when Kitty turns to tell Bartimaeus _I told you so_ , she finds that he is shaking. “Hey,” she says quietly.

 

“Either someone is playing a very bad prank on us,” Bartimaeus says quietly, “or the world works in mysterious ways. The cynic in me is leaning toward cruel joke.” In a blink he’s shifted into a blackbird, soaring into the sky. Kitty watches as he takes off in Ptolemy’s direction, a inky stain running against the grey sky above.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Ptolemy visits her most nights at the Eagle and Child. She pulls a pint for him when she spies him on the way to the bar. It’s an easy pattern to fall into, Kitty thinks serenely. Being friends with Ptolemy is like looking in a distorted mirror: Kitty recognizes aspects of herself in him. He proves to be as idealistic as she is, if perhaps a bit cockier.

 

“Rekhyt’s not in town anymore?” Ptolemy asks, taking a sip of the amber colored brew that he likes so much. Bartimaeus had skirted out of Oxford pretty quickly after their initial encounter with Ptolemy at All Souls. Kitty shakes her head and Ptolemy gives her a sympathetic look. “You must miss him.”

 

“Miss him?” Kitty repeats. It’s a strange question for a near stranger to ask.

 

“I think it’s normal to miss your boyfriend,” Ptolemy clarifies.

 

“Oh,” Kitty says quietly. “Well. It’s complicated.” Yes, she cannot imagine a situation more complicated than mourning an ex lover that never came to fruition with a demon that wears his face. There’s no explaining that. Not really.

 

Kitty wonders plainly what it would have been like to kiss Nathaniel. It’s heartbreaking, the give and take of life.

 

Ptolemy takes a deep drink. “Let me be frank, Kitty. The two of you—you and Rekhyt, I mean—you both look like you’re missing someone when you’re together. I can’t parse it.”

 

“Maybe human behavior isn’t something to parse,” Kitty hums quietly, pouring another patron a third whiskey before turning back to Ptolemy, who seems to have made his home at the bar’s edge.

 

“What, you’re not a fan of psychology?” Ptolemy’s expression warms as Kitty flushes under his direct gaze. “Or not a fan of me? Because I could live without psychology.”

 

“We’ve been through a lot,” Kitty says delicately. “You have—you have no idea. Especially him.”

 

Ptolemy chews on the inside of his cheek but stays silent while Kitty thinks. 

 

“Do you ever wish you could go somewhere else?” Kitty finally asks, cleaning a spot on the bar with a rag and pointedly not looking at Ptolemy.

 

“All the time,” Ptolemy crows. “Not only in space, but also in time. If I could see the library at Alexandria, I think my heart would skip a beat. And to watch them build the Roman Baths in Sulis Minerva’s name!” Kitty smiles ruefully, and a strange expression crosses Ptolemy’s face. “Did you know the ancient Celts and Romans used to throw curse tablets into the waters against their enemies?”

 

“Curse tablets?” Kitty asks curiously.

 

“Someone steps on your toe, curse tablet. Someone robs you blind at market, curse tablet. I swear, some of the things they’ve unearthed. People are narrow-minded now, but man, people were _petty_ in ancient Britain.” 

 

“Rekhyt would probably confirm your suspicions,” Kitty smiles. Bartimaeus is never short on tales of idiot masters, from past to present.

 

Ptolemy pauses, reading her quietly. “Rekhyt’s not like us, is he?”

 

Kitty stiffens. She should lie, say that Bartimaeus is just a bit of an oddball, but it feels wrong. This is _Ptolemy_ , in some strange, twisted form. He deserves to know the truth. “He’s not,” Kitty says delicately.

 

“You seem...very comfortable with him,” Ptolemy says politely. “No protection, I mean. Not that I can see.”

 

“I sacrificed a lot for that trust,” Kitty says plainly. She runs her hand through her hair, the white strands falling between her fingers like straw. Her palm lands on the bar in between them like an olive branch waiting to be grasped.

 

Ptolemy laces his fingers with hers. “You could tell me about it.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Oxford at night is quiet with intermittent shouts and shrieks of exuberance from various clusters of college students having a evening out on the town. This place is so close to London and yet feels nothing of the Revolt. There’s unbridled happiness here. People don’t walk around shellshocked in Oxford.

 

“You’re _her_ ,” Ptolemy says, gobsmacked. “You’re the girl who lead the revolution in London town proper. You realize people are talking about you, about the things you did—I’d heard rumors and stories about the destruction, but... _Kitty_. I had no idea.”

 

Kitty frowns a little. It’s strange to be talked about with a tone of awe. Kitty’s not sure if she likes it.

 

“I may have played a part,” she finally agrees. Kitty steps off the curb to cross the street and slips on a wet cobblestone, the ground beneath her sliding away in an instant. Ptolemy sticks out an arm to catch her, and Kitty catches herself halfway in his arms. It’s not an unpleasant feeling. Her cheek feels hot at what she assumes in sheer embarrassment. “Thanks,” she murmurs, standing herself up. This is not the kind of thunderstruck attention she wants from Ptolemy. Truth be told, Kitty hadn’t realized that she’d wanted a _specific_ kind of attention from Ptolemy at all. But now he’s looking at her like she’s some kind of people’s champion and it doesn’t feel right. Kitty had meant to tell him about what happened in London, she really did; it’s just that she found it hard to omit parts of the story and not tell the whole thing. And for Ptolemy to earn the _whole_ story? That takes time, trust, and a reason.

 

_May you live an interesting life_. Isn’t that the old curse? Well, Kitty’s life was certainly interesting.

 

“You’re a hero,” Ptolemy breathes.

 

“Stop.” Kitty’s voice is sharp and full of warning as she unlocks the door to her room. “I just did what I thought was right.”

 

Ptolemy walks inside and hangs his coat up on the edge of her mostly empty bookshelf. There are a few tomes on magic and summoning, but those are mostly borrowed. Not that dead men need books returned anymore. “That’s not an easy thing to do.”

 

“I know,” Kitty nods.

 

Ptolemy sits down on the floor in the pentacle, and it’s _uncanny_ how much he resembles the face Bartimaeus loves to wear. Kitty does a double take at first. “So how does your story involve me?” Ptolemy asks.

 

“It doesn’t,” a voice from the dark corner of Kitty’s room growls. “Mine does.”

 

“Rekhyt,” Ptolemy breathes as a lithe, white tiger emerges from the shadows. In an instant, he shifts back into Nathaniel’s form. It’s never not a knife in the gut for Kitty, seeing Nathaniel’s face once more.

 

Still, Bartimaeus’s admonition burns Kitty. “How can you say that, after I followed in his footsteps to get to the Other Place? His _Apocrypha_ were my stepping stones. He’s a part of my story as much as he is a part of yours.”

 

“Careful, Kitty,” Bartimaeus says delicately. “You don’t have a Saint Catherine’s Wheel to protect you now. So don’t piss me off.”

 

“You’re angry,” Ptolemy says carefully. He stands in front of Kitty. Bartimaeus, though he’s shed his jungle cat form for Nathaniel’s sharp gaze, still prowls around like he could disembowel you with his canines. Kitty doesn’t doubt it.

 

“Of course I’m _angry_ ,” Bartimaeus hisses. The expression on his face, initially pure rage, shifts as he gazes into Ptolemy’s eyes. Kitty knows that expression: it’s heartbreak. “I was supposed to _protect you_ ,” he says, pressing his finger into Ptolemy’s chest, “and all I did was get you killed. I knew your nature, and I still told you of the Other Place. Maybe I wanted you to come. But it weakened you. I should have known better. Humans and spirits—we ought to leave each other alone.” Bartimaeus’s eyes are shining brightly, and Kitty holds her breath. “But you can’t stay dead. Can you?” He pushes Ptolemy with both hands. Ptolemy takes a single step backwards.

 

The subsequent silence is deafening.

 

“I don’t know how you’re here. Probably to torture me,” Bartimaeus continues. “And I’d deserve it. I know I deserve it.” His anger finally wanes, and Kitty watches as he slumps down on the floor. “I was ready to die for you, and you Dismissed me before I had the chance. And now it’s becoming a damn _pattern_. Figures. Magicians are the biggest idiots I know.”

 

Ptolemy bends down and Bartimaeus shifts again, this time into a small brown dog. He whines quietly as Ptolemy picks him up and holds him against his chest. “I’m sorry,” Ptolemy says, looking over his shoulder at Kitty.

 

_This_ Ptolemy shouldn’t have to apologize. _This_ Ptolemy has no idea what the old one did. But he apologizes anyway, because he knows that the djinni in his arms needs it. Selfless people are rare in this world, but Ptolemy is certainly one of them.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bartimaeus stays on their plane for the next few months. Ptolemy takes the time to teach Kitty some Coptic and a little Ancient Greek. Ptolemy borrows a wide variety of ancient texts from the main research library at Oxford, the Bodleian, and Kitty makes sure to keep them on surfaces in her apartment where beverages have been barred. She doesn't need to be yelled at by the prissy librarian for coffee ring stains on the parchment. Bartimaeus laughs at Kitty’s accent as she tries the foreign tongues. “You sound like you’ve got marbles in your mouth,” the djinni laughs.

 

"I'm so glad you're amused," Kitty says dryly. 

 

“You’re doing great,” Ptolemy compliments, ignoring Bartimaeus entirely. “Now try this again, but with less rolling of the _r_.”

 

Thus Kitty’s life goes on in the small town of Oxford: she learns about ancient Roman Britain from Ptolemy, she works at the pub in the evenings, and in the rest of her spare time, she talks to her friends about the Other Place.

 

That floating feeling Kitty felt there is one that she will likely spend the rest of her life chasing.

 

“It sounds like paradise,” Ptolemy hums as Kitty describes her experience.

 

“It sounds like you want to go back,” Bartimaeus adds darkly, pointing at the both of them. Kitty isn’t sure if he’s truly discerned between the Ptolemy that once was and the Ptolemy that exists now. Ultimately, the present day Ptolemy doesn’t seem to mind the blurred lines. “My advice on that is simple: don’t. It took enough years off you the first time.” He gestures at Kitty’s hair and she frowns.

 

“I think you look distinguished,” Ptolemy placates. He tucks a few grey strands behind Kitty’s ear. 

 

Kitty laughs as Bartimaeus gags behind her. “Yes, yes, she’s lovely. Let’s keep her that way.”

 

Life goes on like that, uninterrupted, for a long while. It’s nice not having to look over her shoulder. Kitty still look, but the reflex is simply out of habit, not necessity. She’s made a safe place for herself. It’s not a future she ever imagined, but it is good.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bartimaeus is in the Other Place when they first broach the subject of Nathaniel.

 

“The face that he wears sometimes,” Ptolemy says quietly. “The one that when he wears it, you flinch.”

 

“Yes,” Kitty replies. He hasn’t asked a question yet.

 

“It’s Nathaniel, isn’t it?” She nods, and Ptolemy takes her hand.

 

“Did you love him?” Ptolemy asks.

 

_Did_ she love him? What a question to ask, now that the wound in her heart has begun to scar. Did she love John Mandrake? That smarmy, stuck-up, pompous jerk? Perish the thought. But _Nathaniel_ —the man that sacrificed everything to save her and countless others—that was a man she might have cherished. “I could have,” Kitty finally replies, echoing Bartimaeus’s words from months ago. “He saved the world.” She wipes her face quickly, efficiently. “But he died.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Ptolemy says.

 

“You need to _stop_ apologizing for things that you had no hand in,” Kitty chastises with a choked laugh.

 

“It feels like it’s the only thing I’m good at with you lot,” Ptolemy jokes, and when Kitty cracks a smile, he grins back broadly. “I’m not trying to fill a slot here. I just want to know you. It’s a sickness, really. Being an insufferable know-it-all.”

 

Kitty beams up at him. “You’re the Extraordinary Research Fellow, aren’t you? You’re supposed to be extraordinarily curious. I don’t mind you asking.” It’s true: she doesn’t mind. She might have, once, but Ptolemy has earned her truth. He hasn’t rescued her from a marid or a golem, but he has listened to her and been her friend. It’s a quiet kind of heroism. Kitty thinks he might have saved her life.

 

It’s begun to snow. Kitty looks up into the clouds as flakes begin to fall from the sky above them, landing on her cheeks and eyelashes. The world gets a little blurry, but Kitty doesn’t mind. “Nathaniel was a good man who tried hard not to be. I thank whatever maker is out there that he failed.”

 

Ptolemy wipes the snowflakes from her cheek. “Do you want to go inside?”

 

“No,” Kitty says dreamily. “I don’t mind the snow.”

 

Ptolemy makes a face, like that’s not what he meant to say. Finally, he nods, and directs them towards dinner and a warm cup of tea.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Rebecca Piper, Interim Prime Minister, visits Oxford in the spring. As the de facto head of the Magician’s Council, Ms. Piper has a lot on her plate—of that, Kitty is certain. This only adds to Kitty’s confusion regarding why such a recently established minister would visit Oxford just to see Kitty Jones, former member of the Resistance.

 

Ms. Piper looks out of place in the Eagle and Child, crossing her legs properly on the barstool and nearly falling over in the act.

 

“I think it’s time for you to come back to London, Ms. Jones.” Now it’s Kitty’s turn to nearly fall over.

 

“Excuse me?” Kitty asks.

 

Ms. Piper is sipping on a gin and tonic that Kitty made under her careful gaze. “I gave you time. Now I need you to come back and be a voice for the people who have none.” She smiles knowingly at Kitty. “From one public servant to another, I know that being on your little vacation will have a spring in your step once you’re back on the job.”

 

Kitty tilts her head a little. Public servant? Is that really what she is now? How much does she have to give until the world leaves her alone?

 

 

* * *

 

 

Kitty summons Bartimaeus that night. The demon appears as Nathaniel, dressed in a indigo, well-tailored suit. His shirt is unbuttoned at the neck, and Kitty finds her eyes trailing down his Adam’s apple. Seeing Nathaniel is less of a gut-punch now than it once was. She ties this form to Bartimaeus now, so the feeling that courses through Kitty when she sees that face—it’s something else entirely. “They want me back in London.”

 

Bartimaeus rolls his eyes, and Nathaniel’s sharp features smirk back at her. “Sure. Seems perfectly safe now. You’ll just be surrounded by horrible magicians on that infernal council and need to watch your back at every turn. Pleasant sounding, really. You should have a jolly good time.”

 

“To be fair, most of the magicians we knew are dead.”

 

Bartimaeus thinks for a moment. “Oh. Well, that actually is a bit of good news.”

 

Ptolemy knocks on her door, and Kitty watches as Bartimaeus opens it. “Have you heard the good news? Kitty’s being whisked back to London. The PM herself has ordained it.” His words are dripping with sarcasm, and Kitty throws a pillow at his head from behind. Bartimaeus dodges it and, of course, it ends up slamming Ptolemy in the face.

 

“Hello to you both,” he says with a wince, catching the pillow in his arms and tossing it back on the bed. “You’re really leaving?”

 

“I don’t know _what_ I’m doing,” Kitty says honestly as Ptolemy shakes off his boots at her door. “Ms. Piper wants me to join the magician’s council. This the second time she has offered me the position.” She looks between the two of them feeling exasperated. “How many times do I have to tell them I’m _not_ a magician until they leave me alone?”

 

Ptolemy and Bartimaeus exchange a look between them. “Sweetheart,” Bartimaeus sighs, stepping towards her. “You’ve summoned me on fifteen separate occasions in the past year alone. I think you just might be a magician. Or something a lot like it.”

 

Kitty shudders. “Nope. No thanks, I’ve never coveted that title. Take it back.”

 

“No take backs, Kitty. You’re an evil magician now. Accept it, I always knew this would be your fate.” Bartimaeus looks near laughter, but Kitty is only getting more frustrated.

 

“I’m _not_ —”

 

“Well, I think you should do it.” Ptolemy’s voice rings out in the room like a warning bell.

 

“What?” Bartimaeus croaks out.

 

“ _What_?” Kitty echoes.

 

Ptolemy looks at Kitty and smiles sadly. “You knew you weren’t going to be a barkeep forever. You’re too important for that.”

 

_Important._ There aren’t a lot of people who grew up the way she did—in the streets, alone, fighting for her life—that can say that they became important. “Important? To who?” Kitty asks plaintively. She crosses her arms over her chest in defiance. “I don’t care about magicians. I care about the people of London. Magicans can bugger off for all I care.”

 

“That’s what makes you a good choice,” Bartimaeus interjects. “I hate to admit it, but Ptolemy is right. And you know, it pains me to say that.”

 

"Your confidence in me is valued, as always, Rekhyt," Ptolemy says with a roll of his eyes.

 

But Kitty had made a life here, a life that she _liked_. Oxford was beautiful and merciful on her tired soul. It had been a balm when nothing else had touched the gnawing ache in her heart. This place was the quiet escape she had needed so desperately. And now, that chapter in her life would come to a close. “I don’t want to go,” she whispers.

 

Kitty sits down on her bed and almost immediately, Ptolemy is there sitting next to her. Bartimaeus follows at a slower pace, Nathaniel’s face staring down at the two of them quizzically. “I understand your hesitation,” Ptolemy says quietly. He threads her fingers with his own. “You made a home here. A real one.”

 

“You thought you were out,” Bartimaeus adds. “It’s okay to mourn the life you thought you would be leading. The quiet ones tend to be the most pleasant, I’ve found. I’d be sad, too.”

 

“If you really don’t want to do this, you don’t have to,” Ptolemy amends. He squeezes her hand tightly. “But I think deep down you know that you were meant for bigger things.”

 

Kitty wants to laugh. _Bigger things_. This idea that she was destined for a life of grandeur is ludicrous. She wants _less_ stratification of power and wealth, not more. It’s lunacy—in fact, Kitty is certain that Ms. Piper had a bit of a knock on the head during the Demon Revolt. Maybe that’s why she’s decided to put such trust in an inexperienced revolutionary.

 

Kitty takes a deep breath and shakes her head. She knows that that kind of defeatist self-talk ruins you from the inside out. So maybe Kitty is not only worthy of this promotion but also fits the job well. And part of her does want to take the position, in a strange way: Kitty knows that she has more work to do. She left London behind her in tatters. It’s time to darn the edges back together.

 

“Can you stay tonight?” Kitty asks finally.

 

“Of course,” Ptolemy nods with a polite smile. He lets go of her hand, tossing a pillow on the floor.

 

_No,_ Kitty thinks to herself. _Not like that._

 

She leans forward and grabs the front of Ptolemy’s shirt. Her nose grazes his cheek, and she can feel his breath on her lips. “Can you stay tonight?” she asks again. His eyes wide, he nods slightly. Breathily, he manages a quiet, “Of course.” Kitty almost laughs at the difference in tone from before.

 

“I think that’s my cue,” she hears Bartimaeus sigh from the window.

 

“No,” Kitty says, and her tone is vicious, not to be trifled with. “You loved him, didn’t you?”

 

Bartimaeus’s eyes flare bright red. He takes one single daring step towards the bed. “Don’t tease, Kitty. It’s not _nice_.”

 

“You loved him and you lost him and now he’s _here_. If that isn’t a sign that you should stay, then I don’t know what is.” Kitty looks between Bartimaeus and Ptolemy and sees the quiet grief between them. “Please stay. You love him.” She’s not sure who she’s talking to, but both man and djinni nod in tandem.

 

Ptolemy holds out his hand for Bartimaeus.

 

“I could never deny you,” the demon sighs, the anger fading from his eyes. Kitty isn’t sure if he’s talking to her or Ptolemy or both of them. “Not even if I wanted to.”

 

The bed is not large enough for the three of them, but they make do. Ptolemy is looking at her with wide eyes as she reaches for the hem of her shirt. Bartimaeus has always run hot, and tonight is no exception. His fingertips graze her back as he helps her disrobe, and his touch is like the sun. She looks up over her shoulder curiously.

 

“What?” he murmurs, dipping his head down for a kiss. Nathaniel’s face dips down and as Kitty reaches for him, she wonders if kissing the dead magician is anything like this. Regardless, it’s the closest she’ll ever get, and it’s no second place. Warmth flows through her like the sun warming a shadowed glade. His lips are soft, like they’ve never been chapped by the cold. “I’ve danced across this plane for thousands of years. Does it surprise you that I would want this?”

 

“I didn’t think you were so human,” Kitty says simply, leaning back into his lap. She beams up at him like she’s won something, and maybe she has.

 

“Well,” Bartimaeus says shortly, petting back her hair. “I generally don’t make a habit of it.”

 

“Maybe you should,” Ptolemy suggests. He’s trailing a line of kisses up Kitty’s neck. Kitty leans her head back and lets Ptolemy bridge the gap: he kisses Kitty’s throat, her lips, and then Kitty is watching from below as Ptolemy puts his lips on Bartimaeus.

 

Both man and beast are very still above her. She can feel Bartimaeus’s hand gripping her shoulder tightly, and she covers his fingers with her own, grounding him. Kitty cannot imagine how overwhelming this must be for him. Finally, Bartimaeus tilts his head slightly, raising his hand to cup Ptolemy’s jaw.

 

Bartimaeus makes a plaintive sound that Ptolemy echoes. Kitty reaches up and touches Bartimaeus’s chest. Under her fingertips, his heart beats like a hummingbird’s wings in flight. 

 

“Second chances don’t quite stare you in the face this literally very often,” Bartimaeus muses, a little breathlessly.

 

“Shut up, now,” Ptolemy says kindly before kissing him again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tucked in between various limbs, drowsy and half-asleep, Kitty listens as Ptolemy whispers into the dark. “I dreamed about you, Rekhyt, before I met you. I think that’s probably why I let you take me out to tea.”

 

“Dreaming about me? Must have been a nightmare. I’m known to be pretty damn terrifying.” She feels the reverberations of Bartimaeus’s murmured words in the barrel of the chest that rests against her spine.

 

“No, Rekhyt. It was a good dream.”

 

Kitty feels the bed shifts as Ptolemy leans over to kiss Bartimaeus’s brow. “Fine,” Bartimaeus sighs in happy exasperation. “Maybe it was a good dream after all.”

 

Ptolemy speaks again after a few moments of gentle quiet. “Do you really think I’m him, Rekhyt?”

 

Kitty freezes as Bartimaeus thinks. “I don’t know,” he finally admits. “You look like him. You think like him. Maybe you’re a distant descendant. Or maybe it’s something more.” Kitty feels someone trace a warm finger up and down her shoulder. “But I know what you are.” His voice is raw now with emotion buried for nearly a millennium. “You’re enough. And I’m tired of splitting hairs on the subject.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Kitty leaves for London alone. She can’t possibly ask Ptolemy to leave his studies. As the Extraordinary Research Fellow to All Souls, he’d lose his position if he abandoned Oxford entirely. She can’t ask that of Ptolemy, just as she can’t ask Bartimaeus to come with her.

 

Kitty leaves a note for Ptolemy with Bartimaeus’s true name so that, if he so desires, he can summon the djinni himself. Bartimaeus deserves to live a full life with Ptolemy. She will not summon him again. Kitty knows the agony of traversing between the Other Place and this plane of existence. She was being selfish before. Ptolemy and Bartimaeus go back thousands and thousands of years. Whatever this version of Ptolemy is, it’s clear they have a connection. Kitty will not stand in their way.

 

London is both different and the same. She knows the streets well, but Ms. Piper sends a car to pick her up. Seeing the streets from behind tinted glass is quite eerie. Kitty supposes she ought to get used to this view. Construction abounds in the city where the destruction of the Demon Revolt consumed buildings at will. Kitty watches children dart past her car, giggling and laughing amongst themselves. At the sight, Kitty feels revitalized. Life goes on in the city of London. It's a beautiful thing.

 

Her duties on the council as the voice of the common people is more difficult than she had imagined. In Kitty’s absence, the magician’s council had been mostly populated by former assistants and low-level casters, all of whom are very good at being organized and none of whom are very good at making decisions.

 

Still, Kitty manages to suggest a few programs that would benefit the common folk, and the fact that no one shoots her ideas down is a good sign that they might actually come to fruition. “See, Kitty,” Ms. Piper says with a smile. “You’re already making a difference here.”

 

Kitty has an assistant now, a young woman named Nigella who seems very competent and eager to please. “Whatever you think is most important, I’ll bring those files home to look over in the evening,” Kitty instructs. Nigella hands over a stack of pages nearly as tall as a small dog. 

 

“Best get cracking, then.” A year ago, Kitty would have handed the stack of papers straight back. Now, though, Kitty simply eyes them with distaste before stuffing them into her travel bag. Baby steps.

 

There is a car waiting for her outside. “I’m going to Islington,” she informs the driver a little awkwardly.

 

The ride is silent and soothing as her mind drifts back to the place she left behind. When Kitty arrives at her apartment, she’s shocked that she’s arrived so quickly. She must have lost time daydreaming.

 

Two figures stand at her door. Kitty’s instincts kick in, and she clutches both at the Amulet of Samarkand that still hangs around her neck as well as the knife in her pocket. Old habits die hard.

 

“Show yourselves,” Kitty says hotly.

 

“Easy there, tiger,” a familiar voice coos. The first figure steps forward, and Nathaniel’s face is swathed by lamplight. “Though I’m not opposed to getting stuck tonight, if you know what I mean.”

 

“Be nice, Rekhyt,” Ptolemy sighs from the shadows. “We’ve just given her a shock.”

 

“What are you two doing here?” Kitty asks.

 

“Well,” Ptolemy says with a smile, stepping forward into the light as well, “I figured that you could use some really overqualified underlings. As a newly appointed minister, I’m sure you have some positions in mind that we could fill.”

 

Bartimaeus lets out a hearty laugh. “Oh, and _my_ pun was bad earlier?”

 

“What about Oxford?” Kitty asks as she allows herself to be taken into Ptolemy’s arms.

 

“Oxford is just a place,” Ptolemy says simply. “I know home when I see her.”

 

“Smooth,” Bartimaeus grins. He kisses Kitty on both cheeks, and where his skin touches hers, a gentle, pleasant burn follows. “We’d miss you too much, Kitty Jones. Is that so strange to think?”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> My recipient wanted Bart/Kitty/Ptolemy OT3 and I hope that I delivered! Enjoy and happy holidays :)
> 
> Other notes:  
> \- The [Gorgon's head and curse tablets at Sulis Minerva](https://www.romanbaths.co.uk/key-objects-collection) are real!  
> \- Title from the BORNS song "Past Lives."


End file.
